


Hush

by unicornsandbutane



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/M, Light Bondage, Mild S&M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Teenagers, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-07
Updated: 2015-02-07
Packaged: 2018-03-10 21:06:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3303473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unicornsandbutane/pseuds/unicornsandbutane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My ladyfriend and I decided that Pansy Pauling, Vice President of the Student Council and a force to be reckoned with, might casually hook up with Sebastian (our high school AU Scout), because he’s easy, uncomplicated, and absolutely willing to do whatever she says. She doesn’t have time for anything more difficult, and he’s all surface, she figures. In discussing it with SillyScrunchy on tumblr, she said she got the same idea we did: that Pauling would bring a gag to these meetings.</p><p>This is the result of that. Entirely PWP, warning for a bit of light BDSM.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hush

"Here, bite on this," she said, holding out a thick scarf. He was about to ask why, but the look she leveled over her glasses left no room for negotiation. So, he dropped his jaw and allowed the twisted wool to fit into the corners of his mouth, between his teeth. She nudged his chin with an index finger and he snapped his jaw shut, feeling himself drool into the cloth because of the way the scarf forced his lips back. He tried to swallow and instead let out a horrible slurping noise, and she flicked his nose before tying the scarf securely around his head. 

He leaned back in the storage closet, already laid out on the floor, and shoved a bucket out of the way. He could only blink rapturously when her thighs pressed in on either side of his hips. He could feel the heat of her, under her skirt, radiating through her underwear and into his lower belly. When she unbuttoned his baggy jeans, and he lifted his hips to help her pull them off, they pressed together, and he moaned into the gag. 

"Shhh," she breathed, pulling him out through the fly of his boxers and slipping a rubber onto him in a quick roll. She merely pushed her panties aside and he wanted so badly to tell her how hot that was, that she was just fuckin’ too impatient to even shuck her undies all the way, but with the gag in his mouth all he could do was gaze up at her, adoringly. She sank onto him in a slow, wet, press that robbed him of his breath and made his lashes flutter. Her hands on his chest, black nail polish against his white tee, she gripped him, made him hope she left marks. He shoved his shirt up, and tried to convey with his eyes alone how badly he wanted her nails digging into his skin. 

She tilted her head, considering if she should humour him, actually deign to giving him something he wanted, but his hips bucked up on her downward thrust and she raked her nails down his chest. Pink score-marks appeared in their wake and he glanced at his chest before throwing his head back, teeth clenching around the scarf. He rolled his hips, trying to encourage her, and gasped, nearly choking, when she clawed into his pectorals. If she drew blood, he was certain he was going to lose it. 

Her hips slapped against his, and it was a little uncomfortable where her underwear tried to slide back into place, but he couldn’t concentrate on that when she was so hot and tight around him. He got his feet under him and tried to buck up harder, tried to please her, watching her face for signs of approval until on one particularly forceful upward thrust her hands slipped off of his sweaty chest and caught his rucked up shirt, and stretched it across his throat. He gagged, but it was also good, thinking about her wrapping her hands around his neck, controlling him like that. 

His fingers scrabbled for purchase on the cement floor, and he felt her hands leave him. He forced his eyes open, and saw her moving her panties aside again to rub at her own clit, black nails against flushed skin. God how he loved a shaved cunt. 

She was arching into her own hand and then pushing back against him, her lips fallen open, berry-purple lipstick exaggerating the O of her mouth. She’d begun to tense, her legs twitching, and he nearly held his breath, anticipating, trying desperately to hold on at least until she was done, because fuck if he didn’t want her to keep coming back. She could snap her black lacquered fingers and he would be brought to heel. He’d subject himself to any number of humiliations for another moment like this, when her back was arching and her breath was loud in the small closet, and she fell against him one last time, curling inwards, shaking, and not-quite-silent. Her glasses were fogged, and they’d slipped down her nose. She panted a moment, pushed them back into place, and tucked her hair behind her ear before he bucked into her again, so close, and she made a high-pitched noise and clamped down again, fingers digging into his ribs and that was it, that did it— his moans muffled by the scarf as he rode it out, hips snapping against hers until finally, finally, his body slowed, then stilled, then relaxed. He practically melted back into the concrete. 

She dragged herself up off of him, and he thought for a moment maybe she’d sit there with him a moment, but, no such luck. Already, she was straightening her clothing, brushing off her knees, pulling a compact from inside her backpack, and turning back into the image of composed alt-rock perfection she was moments before shoving him into the janitorial closet. 

"My scarf, please?" She held out a hand expectantly, and he shifted himself into a more upright position to untie it. It came away wet, and he folded it, glancing at her apologetically. She tucked it into her bag without a word. 

"Count to one hundred and twenty before leaving," she commanded, standing all too easily. One of these days he’d make her knees tremble, he promised himself. One day, one day. 

That day, though, she slipped out of the closet and into the hall without a backward glance, leaving him to take care of the mess on his shorts, as well as the one lodged somewhere between his head and his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Pretty short; I wrote it in a series of texts to my lady. Poor Scooter. 
> 
> Find me on tumblr for similar stuff! c:


End file.
